


Inciting Incident

by moistdrippings, stratumgermanitivum



Series: Brat [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Domestic Discipline, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moistdrippings/pseuds/moistdrippings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: Will was not, at the time, taking responsibility for anything. He was tired of responsibility, tired of being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, sweat-damp and entirely unrested from the hour or two of night terrors he’d managed. Tired of people expecting empathy and magic to be synonyms.He rambled it all while pacing a hole in Hannibal’s carefully chosen rug, circling Hannibal’s office like a trapped animal. Feeling like a trapped animal.“You cannot control the actions of other people, Will, but you can control your responses to them.”





	Inciting Incident

**Author's Note:**

> All notes, including more detailed warnings, can be found in the end notes.

It started, as all things in Will’s life did these days, with a case.

Specifically, it started with Jack Crawford and the way he stood over Will when they worked on cases, the way he hovered, the way he glared and huffed and was never satisfied when Will didn’t pull answers out of his goddamn  _ ass _ .

Will said as much to Hannibal, which, in retrospect, was where  _ Hannibal _ would probably claim it all started. Not with Jack Crawford, or with flayed and mutilated corpses left in Virginia fields, but with Will.

After all, Will’s choices were his own, and he was meant to take responsibility for them.

Will was not, at the time, taking responsibility for  _ anything _ . He was tired of responsibility, tired of being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, sweat-damp and entirely unrested from the hour or two of night terrors he’d managed. Tired of people expecting empathy and magic to be synonyms. Tired of bickering with goddamn  _ Brian Zeller _ in the labs because he thought Will didn’t do any actual investigative work. Because he thought Will’s observations were  _ guesses _ .

This, he also said to Hannibal. He rambled it all while pacing a hole in Hannibal’s carefully chosen rug, circling Hannibal’s office like a trapped animal.  _ Feeling _ like a trapped animal.

“You cannot control the actions of other people, Will, but you can control your responses to them.”

Will laughed, sharp-edged and bitter. He didn’t feel like he controlled anything. His whole life was just one long, downward spiral, away from control, away from any sort of grasp on reality.

He saw Garrett Jacob Hobbs around every corner, in every dream. Will had left control behind a  _ long _ time ago. “I feel like an intruder at my own job. A job I didn’t even  _ want _ .”

“And yet, despite your disinterest, you persist,” Hannibal said, “If you’re going to continue, it would be better if you could interact peacefully with your colleagues.”

“They’re the ones who can’t interact peacefully with  _ me _ ,” Will muttered. “Brian fucking Zeller practically has a fit any time I make a suggestion.”

“Mr. Zeller has worked for Jack for a long time,” Hannibal reminded him, in that entirely reasonable tone that drove Will up the wall, “It is reasonable that he would chafe a little at a change in the routine. And not everyone can have your gift, Will. Sometimes people need to look at the individual steps, rather than the whole picture.”

Will couldn’t have explained why he felt so defensive. He only knew that hearing Hannibal side with Zeller set him on edge, that it seemed to him that this office was meant to be  _ his _ space. A space where he was the mongoose, not the tea cup. A space where what he had to say mattered.

And it was true, that Hannibal hadn’t said it  _ didn’t. _ But neither had he appeased the wild, feral thing that grew within Will. “Nobody asked you,” Will snapped.

On his next pass by the desk, Hannibal reached out and snagged Will’s arm, bringing Will to a sudden stop. Hannibal had touched him before, of course. Steadying hands on Will’s shoulder, a hint of reassurance. Never like this, though, heavy-handed, grip tight around the bones of Will’s wrist. It fit there, interlocking, perfectly secure. Will stared at Hannibal’s hand as if he’d never seen it before.

“You’re acting like a naughty child,” Hannibal told him, voice slow, a hint of a warning in his tone. “If that’s what you need, I’m happy to play along.”

The words were almost teasing. The look in Hannibal’s eyes was not. Will knew, with a sinking dread, that Hannibal’s idea of ‘playing along’ would involve very little play. He’d dangled Will over a precipice, and Will did not know what was at the bottom, but the stern set of dark eyes and the firm, calloused grip of a large hand both pulled him towards… towards  _ something _ .

And he knew, even then, even before he admitted it to himself. Knew what happened to naughty children. Knew why he might be drawn to someone so in-control, so firm in voice and stature. Will knew, without properly knowing.

Which is why he was extremely startled to hear his own voice hiss out, “Fuck you.”

It had spilled from Will’s mouth dripping venom and malice, a harsh, slicing phrase. The anger that had set Will’s glare, however, melted almost instantly, dropping out of him along with his stomach, leaving only a cold, uncertain dread.

There wasn’t a single hint of surprise on Hannibal’s face, though. He tugged Will closer, reached up to tangle an unexpectedly gentle hand in Will’s curls. Will, confused and hesitant, and starved for any bit of attention, couldn’t help but lean into it. Hannibal cupped the side of Will’s head with a small smile, and for a moment, they stood like that, connected.

“Very well, then,” Hannibal said, and the room tilted sideways as he used his grip on Will’s wrist and curls to drag Will over his lap.

It was the surprise that allowed Hannibal to do it, or at least Will would swear up and down it was, if asked. After all, he was nearly Hannibal’s height, and while Hannibal was both broader and firmer than Will, Will was absolutely certain he’d last a good while in a fair fight.

Staring down at the carpet, ass-up over Hannibal’s lap, was  _ not _ a fair fight.

“What… Dr. Lecter, what the  _ hell— _ ”

Hannibal propped up one of his knees a little higher, angling Will further, and trapped Will’s thighs in place with his own. The position left Will exposed, pushing his ass up just a little more, and leaving him scrabbling for a hand-hold against the rug.

“What the  _ hell _ —” And it did not matter that Will didn’t actually need an answer, that he knew exactly what was happening, because Hannibal’s hand came down on his upturned ass before Will could say any more.

This was what it had all been leading up to, from the first touch to Will’s wrist. He’d known, deep down, had expected it. He fought anyway, squirming and thrashing as Hannibal smacked him again. In a fair fight, he might have stood a chance.

Was it really a fair fight, though, when that burst of pain felt more like safety than anything else had in  _ weeks _ ?

“Dr. Lecter—”

“I think,” Hannibal said, pinning one of Will’s flailing hands against the small of his back, “that, given the circumstances, you should start calling me ‘Hannibal.’”

Will attempted to kick out and got nowhere, thoroughly pinned in place. Hannibal’s hand was muffled by Will’s thick jeans, but barely. Will felt every blow, heavy against flesh that had never suffered such an indignity before.

“Hannibal, then, ow, stop!”

“I don’t think so,” Hannibal said, successfully trapping Will’s other hand. Will whimpered, a helpless little sound that brought a red flush to his face. “I think,” Hannibal continued, punctuating his sentences with sharp, carefully aimed smacks, “That you’ve been waiting for this since you walked into my office. Longer, perhaps. You’ve grown steadily more frustrated, in the time I’ve known you.”

“Then I’ll sign up for fucking yoga—” Will cut himself off with a yelp. Hannibal had tilted his hips up further at the foul language to swat painfully at Will’s upper thighs.

“That seems unlikely to help you. No, what you need is for someone to pull you up short, isn’t that right? Someone to step in when you’re in over your head.”

“Nooo…” To Will’s eternal embarrassment, the word drew itself out into a whine. Hannibal made an approving noise behind him, a pleased little hum, and revisited a spot that was already sore.

“Lying to me is not going to help your situation, Will.” The words were disapproving, but Hannibal sounded unreasonably pleased. He paused for a moment to rub gently over the curve of Will’s ass, already sensitive to the touch. Will whimpered again, soft and unsure.

“I don’t want you to do this.”

That earned him another smack, firm over the crease of his jeans, the very tops of his thighs. Will cried out, eyes watering.

“What did I say about lying, dear Will? You don’t want me to do this, and yet you let me guide you into position. You made no efforts to stand or push me away, and even now you squirm only enough to announce your displeasure. We both know you could fight me off, and yet here you are.”

Will stared down at the pattern of Hannibal’s stupid rug. It blurred before his eyes, tears welling up and then over, down his face. His heart hammered in his throat. He couldn’t seem to find the words that would prove Hannibal wrong, that would wrench him out of the humiliation of being exposed.

“No one wants to be spanked,” he tried, and got a chuckle in response.

“ _ You _ very clearly do, Will. And what’s more, I suspect someone should have been holding you accountable long before now. You’ve been very lost, haven’t you, poor boy?”

Will drew in a shaking, shuddering breath. He was sore. He was sore, and embarrassed, and uncomfortable.

And every single bit of screaming in his head had stopped. Everything had stopped. The world was Hannibal, his lap, his hands. The sharp bursts of pain guided by someone who was paying attention, somebody who cared enough about Will to step in and… and  _ help _ ?

The noise that came from Will’s throat was strangled, a sort of half-groan, half-cry. Hannibal rucked his shirt up just far enough to pet soothingly at Will’s lower back.

“Ten more, I think,” Hannibal said softly.

“Hannibal,  _ wait _ —”

Hannibal did not wait. He delivered each blow across Will’s aching backside, increasing his pressure, his tempo, until Will was full-on sobbing across his lap. It seemed to go on  _ forever _ . It seemed to only last a few seconds. Will was dizzy with it, by the end, dizzy with pain and sorrow and an overwhelming  _ need _ he couldn’t express. Hannibal’s hand cracked against his skin for the final time, hard enough to jerk Will forward as far as Hannibal’s firm grip would allow. Will broke, sobbing out his apologies in cries that slurred together, little pleas for forgiveness he seemed to have no control over.

“Hush, sweet boy,” Hannibal murmured, hoisting Will up and into his lap, properly this time. Will sobbed harder at the pressure of Hannibal’s thighs against his bruised ass, but Hannibal hushed him again and tucked Will’s head under his chin, gentle hands soothing over Will’s curls and thighs.

He smelled like sandalwood and tea tree, sharp and crisp and clean. Will clutched at his tie and the stiff fabric of his shirt, clinging like a child as his body shook with his sobs. Hannibal made no effort to stop him, holding Will tight against him as Will cried the last remnants of his stress away.

Will was barely aware when the tears stopped. He’d lost himself, eyes closed, to the peace that settled over him in a heavy blanket. He’d forgotten how they ended up here. He didn’t care.

“There we go,” Hannibal murmured, soft against his ear. “I knew there was a good boy under all that fuss.”

Will stiffened, or tried to. His body wouldn’t go through the motions, at ease under Hannibal’s gentle touches. “I’m not—” he began, but came up short. To say he wasn’t a ‘good boy’ would be absurd, even though his entire being rebelled against such a phrase. “I wasn’t—” he tried again, but that didn’t seem to fit either. “I don’t want you to do that again,” Will finally said, and it sounded pathetic and small even to his own ears.

“Don’t you?” Hannibal asked mildly, one hand dropping to cup the curve of Will’s ass, right over the burning heat that still lingered. He pressed, gentle, but unyielding, and Will shuddered. “If you ask me to stop, then of course I will,” Hannibal promised, “But I would reflect on how you’re feeling right now, in this moment.”

How he was feeling was humiliated. But also, somehow, important? Important enough for Hannibal to make an effort, at least, and then to coddle Will afterwards while he shuddered and whimpered. 

“I don’t-” But whatever Will might have said would have been a lie. And he was learning, very quickly, that there was not much he could successfully lie to Hannibal about.

“Okay,” Will finally said, softer than he meant to. He tightened his fist in Hannibal’s shirt, as if by agreeing, he might tempt Hannibal into taking the offer back.

“Okay?” Hannibal prompted.

“Okay,” Will clarified, “I won’t ask you to stop.”

“Excellent,” Hannibal said, offering Will a handkerchief from his pocket, “Then the next time we meet, we’ll know where to begin.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Detailed warning: I tagged this as 'chose not to archive warnings' as well as 'dubious consent because, technically, Hannibal does not get Will's permission to initiate this scene. This is punishment without negotiation, and while it's explicitely stated in the fic that Will could have stopped him and chose not to, that doesn't change the fact that Hannibal did not get consent prior, and that makes this technically assault. Negotiate your scenes, people!
> 
> So. First things first: Characterization is really important to me. That being said, I think that kink requires, by necessity, a small amount of characterization tweaking to make sense. The chance that Hannibal 'No-One-Can-Know-I'm-A-Serial-Killer' Lecter would start spanking a friend out of the blue without getting the okay first is pretty much zero. This is the same percent as the chance that Will 'He-Ran-Into-My-Gun-10-Times' Graham would let him. But if they were perfectly, 100% in character with no changes, then we'd be watching the show and no one would be getting spanked. This is for fun. It is so much for fun, that the title of the doc was 'Moist and Strats Write A Porno.' It's just a nice little one-shot because I like spankings and bratty subs. Let's all suspend our disbelief and enjoy.
> 
> This is technically stand-alone, but there will be more coming. Lots and lots of brat!Will getting thoroughly and efficiently spanked. Moist and I spent hours, *hours* plotting this story out. I have enough material for many, many one-shots in the future.
> 
> That being said, I also have another million things to work on, which is why this is set up to be enjoyed on it's own. No cliff hangers, no one left hanging. This way, I can take my time working on this and get all my other stuff done first.
> 
> Huge thank you to Moist, who did 50% of the plotting and 100% of the editing, because I wrote this as fast as I possibly could and then threw it at them and ran away. I may have done the majority of the physical act of writing, but this is our shared universe and they deserve just as much credit. May we have many more kinky ramblings.
> 
> This note is really long for a 1700 word one-shot, but like I said, this is only a prelude of things to come.


End file.
